All but Human
by trekthemusical
Summary: Three years after returning from the Delta Quadrant, the USS Voyager is ready to again venture into the unknown, piloted by a new crew who must band together as their mission calls into question the notion of humanity and the essence of life. Features characters from VOY, DS9, and TNG as well as OCs.
1. Ensign

Ch 1. Ensign

The commotion itself had long since faded, yet the buzz of chatter lingered on as the faint ringing in Seven of Nine's ear. The piece of paper in her hand reaffirmed what she already knew: she had graduated Starfleet Academy, a nice little formality she had undertaken not long after Voyager reached Earth. Seven felt she owed much to Starfleet and, for that purpose, saw favorable opportunity in officially cementing her relationship to the organization. Of course, she had learned much of what was taught at the Academy through prior circumstances, which provided an academic upperhand and enabled her to graduate in approximately half the time required for the average student.

But despite the relative ease of her experience, to gain full rank into Starfleet seemed incredibly surreal. Perhaps it was the name on the diploma: Annika Hansen. To be Ensign Hansen after almost an entire lifetime as Seven of Nine wildly disturbed her perceptions of self, launching a minor fluctuation of confidence and consciousness. Who was Ensign Hansen? Aside from a recent graduate and intended science officer awaiting assignment, she had no clear answer.

Luckily, there were some grounding forces in her life. Admiral Janeway, for example, visited her consistently. A single whisper from that woman was a booming echo of herself, and Seven could soak her in like sunshine and all at once feel better. Truly, the topic they discussed hardly mattered. Whether they discussed the tediousness of the Admiral's duties, the proficiency of Seven's academics, or even topics of a more personal nature, to meet with her former Captain was remarkably pleasant and oddly calming.

Moreover, Seven had Chakotay. His ongoing affections served a subtle testament to her existence as well as anchoring her both to the past, the present, and, ideally, the future. She felt very strongly about him and considered herself remarkably privileged to be his selected romantic interest. The trouble with this sort of relationship, however, was never knowing what tomorrow held in terms of assignments and stations. On any given day, Chakotay-and now she, too-could be placed on a new vessel or sent across the quadrant.

Seven currently awaited his arrival, a somewhat extravagant-looking dinner set out on the table. While certain components were replicated, she had primarily prepared the meal by hand, partially as an experiment into her own abilities, which he continuously urged. Their dinner would be comprised of all his preferred (and compatible) dinner items, which she had committed to memory both by gauging his reactions during the many meals they had shared as well as by his own admissions. Seven of Nine liked to think she was a fairly decent girlfriend.

Yet she stood idly with her diploma in hand, occupying herself with wonderment and awe at the simple fact that she had graduated, when the doorbell indicated Chakotay's arrival. A minor, groundless fear shot through her, as if finding her marveling there would somehow affect his opinion of her, and she quickly returned her diploma to its rightful place on her mantle. Puzzled slightly by her own irrational panic, she regained composure after a moment and called, "You may enter!"

The door slid open with customary noisiness, followed by the sound of familiar foot steps. However, they were not the set of feet Seven had been anticipating. At first, she only blinked in response, but quickly the surprise dissipated, leaving a content smile in its wake; while she was of course expecting Chakotay, this guest was always welcome. "Welcome, Admiral."

"Ensign," replied Admiral Kathryn Janeway, her tone indicative of satire. Her crooked smile said, "hello," but her blue-grey eyes demanded, "coffee". Knowing her old Captain so well, Seven did not require any sort of urging to walk to the replicator and ask for a "coffee, black." With an assumed air of formality, she slipped the newly-materialized mug into Janeway's eager fingers. Her inhalation was audible, her grin contagious, as she sipped merrily for a moment. Then she placed the mug on a table with sudden conviction, but before Seven could inquire into the apparent quality of the coffee, she was swept into a tight embrace.

While she had, to an extent, adjusted over time to the physical expressions of affection her friends exemplified, the sudden nature of this particular hug inspired a slight reactionary twitch. "It's… nice to see you, as well, Admiral," she offered, confusion manifesting as a hesitant pause.

In the equally abrupt way she had seized her, Janeway quickly released Seven and took a step back, adjusting her uniform as she did so. "You haven't heard," the Admiral stated incredulously. "Admiral Piller was supposed to tell you…" She redirected her focus on Seven, regaining volume as well as poise, her posture straightening. "Congratulations, Ensign. You've got your first official assignment."

Before Seven could properly react, the moving door captured her attention. Chakotay had arrived. "Sorry I'm late, I-" he began, the full apology prepared and on his lips but cut short by the unexpected occupancy he found. "Hey, are we having a party?" He chuckled casually. "What are you doing here, Kathryn?"

"I have an assignment," said Seven bluntly, foregoing any and all trivialities in favor of poignancy. She reached for him without mentally registering the motion, and in an instant he was beside her, an arm draped loosely but supportively around her shoulder.

"Wow, that's great!" Chakotay exclaimed with sincere enthusiasm. She saw light in his eyes and felt slightly more at ease. "Congratulations, sweetie! What is it?"

Because she had no answer, she simply directed her gaze back to Admiral Janeway. Chakotay picked up the hint and mirrored her aversion. The coy smile on Janeway's thin lips suggested a tremendousness that commanded full attention. "Seven, you're about to have an honor and priviledge not many of us get: you're going back home."

The enormous grin that spread instantly across Chakotay's face indicated his immediate comprehension, but Seven of Nine paused momentarily before it truly sunk in. Then she smiled. "Voyager."

Janeway nodded. "It'll be different," she cautioned as almost an afterthought. "A lot of us aren't going back out there with you. Metaphorically speaking, I'm trusting you with the keys. The senior staff mission briefing will be held tomorrow at 1600 hours. Any questions?"

As the shock began to fade, Seven found a single question: "Who is the Captain?"


	2. Captain

Ch 2. Captain

Stoic, yellow eyes swept over the sleek bridge. It was significantly smaller than the Enterprise D where Data had spent most of his service thus far, but its size did nothing to belittle its efficiency. The legends forming around this starship, as well as the exploits of her valiant crew and Captain, had been spreading ever since her heroic return from the distant Delta Quadrant.

Officers in gold dotted the room: fiddling with a comm here, tinkering with a purposely exposed panel there, all under the command of one fiery Lieutenant Commander. The ridges on her forehead spoke of Klingon ancestry, but her light skin tone and small frame suggested another set of genetic influence, human perhaps. Data made a mental note to speak to her when she was not so heavily burdened.

"Excuse me, Sir?" The voice snapped him out of his reverie, and he returned his attention to the crewman leading his personal tour. "Shall we… Shall we move on, Sir?"

Putting on his best serious face and tugging his uniform shirt from the bottom-a very Captain-ly mannerism he had borrowed from a trustworthy source-Data provided the response to which he had become so accustomed: "Make it so." He briefly wondered if Captain Riker had taken this much pleasure in utilizing the phrase during his first command, but there was no time for a lengthy deliberation on the matter, as his tour guide was advancing toward the Captain's Ready Room.

Data followed the crewman to the opposite side of the bridge, where the doors parted to grant him entrance to the Ready Room, their automated "whoosh" so like and yet so unlike the Enterprise. Behind the desk sat a slightly older, heavier-set man who wore five pips on his collar. He looked up from the pad in his hands and smiled at the pair of them. "Thank you, Crewman. That will be all." Dismissed, the crewman nodded and left Data alone with the Admiral.

"You must be Mr. Data. Welcome. I'm Admiral Paris, and would you believe that this isn't my first experience with this ship?" He chuckled as he rose from the chair and offered Data his hand. "Yessir, I'm proud to say I helped get this beautiful ship home." he added almost wistfully.

"Ah, yes," said Data cheerily, records whizzing around in his positronic brain, important events pushing to the front of his focus. "Admiral Owen Paris, father of Lieutenant Thomas Paris, Director of both the Pathfinder Project in 2374 and Operation Watson in 2378, which were vital in the early communication with the Delta Quadrant beginning in 2376, and the eventual recovery of-"

"Mr. Data?" the Admiral politely interrupted, an understanding smile deepening his wrinkles. He straightened his uniform with apparent displeasure and slight discomfort at having to cut off the officer before him, especially on such riveting a topic. "I, ah… I know who I am."

"Of course, Sir. My apologies," returned Data, circuitry effectively blushing even if his pale pseudo-skin remained constant. He extended his hand and clasped that of the Admiral, whereupon he shook with obvious fervor. "It is very good to meet you, Sir."

"Oh, none of that," Admiral Paris replied jovially, clapping Data's back casually when his hand became free. "Not on this ship, anyway. Now come!" He directed Data out of the Ready Room and to the nearest turbo lift. From there, they entered into a somewhat-winding hallway and progressed at a surprising pace for someone of the Admiral's advanced age. Data was not entirely sure where they were going, but nonetheless, he mapped the halls mentally as they went; wherever it was they were headed, he surely would need to go there again at some point or another. Their stroll halted in front of another average looking door.

"Well then, here we are," the Admiral announced. He punched a code into the pad next to the door and gestured for Data to enter as it slid open. With a polite nod, he strode into what must have been the briefing room.

He stopped in the doorway to take stock of his immediate surroundings. The room extended slightly to his right, featuring an elliptically shaped table with ten chairs surrounding it. Seated nearest to Data was a Ferengi Lieutenant in a red uniform, who was turning multiple shades of a sickening green. Directly next to him was a Bolian Lieutenant whose attention was completely captivated by the pad in his hands.

A bit past the table stood three individuals; a balding human male and a blonde human female, both clad in blue uniforms, who had their backs to him, and a woman facing him who he knew must have been Admiral Kathryn Janeway. As he was examining the trio, her eyes glanced out to meet his, prompting her grin. She motioned in his direction, at which her two companions turned around to face him as well. Their faces remained blank as they nodded respectfully in his direction and followed the Admiral to their respective seats.

Admiral Paris moved to a seat between Janeway and the Ferengi and sat down to say a very animated hello to his fellow admiral. On Janeway's immediate left sat the balding man, and next to him the blonde woman. An empty seat marked the distance between the blonde and a small, female Bajoran, also in blue, who was speaking to the remaining officer standing: a tall Klingon female with three pips on her collar. Prompted by a subtle urging from the Bajoran, the Klingon paused their conversation to address Data. "Hello, Captain, and welcome to the USS Voyager."


	3. Lieutenant Commander

Ch 3. Lieutenant Commander

1603 hours. Shit.

"Hey, you there!" B'Elanna Torres assaulted her nearest gold-clad lackey. "Come here and finish configuring the Tactical station for me, all right?" She preferred to do things personally, but unfortunately, she was late for the senior staff briefing, so she had no choice but to relinquish her position at the comm to her crewman. He was more than qualified, of course; she had mostly gotten to hand-pick her engineers for this mission, and B'Elanna's standards far outdid those of Starfleet.

As she hurried down the familiar corridors, she wondered what the new Captain would of her tardiness. Admiral Janeway could attest to her efficiency until she was blue in the face, but who knew if it would mean anything? B'Elanna had never encountered an android of his caliber, though she had heard about him years ago and always marvelled at the concept. It was one thing to displease a human, but to piss off technology was not the kind of strain she really needed in her life.

At the appropriate door panel, she typed in an access code, and beneath the separating "whoosh" of the automated doors, she could just discern a greeting addressed to the Captain. As she stumbled in, she found a nearly full table with a single open seat, sandwiched between Seven of Nine and a Bajoran brunette. Slinking uncomfortably to her seat brought back memories of Starfleet Academy, which, given the brief and often chaotic nature of her time there, hardly boded well for her new assignment. "My apologies, Captain, Admirals," she offered, head slightly bowed. "Got a little side-tracked with the last-minute repairs."

Her apology seemed more or less accepted, yet she felt a lingering glare across the ridges of her forehead. She glanced across the table at its source: a very large, very angry-looking Klingon woman who, much to B'Elanna's discontent, wore pips that marked her as a superior officer. "Now," the Klingon Commander growled, rising to her feet, "If there aren't any more interruptions, I believe introductions are in order."

Directing her slowly calming attention to the Captain, she continued. Motioning to the appropriate parties, she said, "You've already been acquainted with Admiral Paris, and I'm sure you've heard of Admiral Janeway." The inflection she used as she said the second name struck B'Elanna as odd in a vaguely humorous way; a palpable tension between the half- and full-Klingon women was already mounting, yet here was the Commander with clearly overflowing respect for a woman B'Elanna had spent years with. She had often felt lucky to work with then-Captain Janeway, but that feeling intensified now for entirely new reasons.

B'Elanna's thoughts were drawn back to the conversation by the sound of her own name. "Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres" was noticeably more hostile than the introductions that followed. "Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram and Chief Medical Officer, Counselor Barris Hana, Lieutenant Toll Jexx, Lieutenant Nog, and Ensign Annika Hansen."

"And I am Commander J'Tava of the House of Lorok," she concluded. Her manner challenged anyone to contest her family name, and if B'Elanna would have had something to go on, she might have, just out of spite. So for now, she let it pass as J'Tava sat back down.

In this moment, Captain Data stood. "Thank you for that wonderful introduction, Commander. I am sure this crew will be very successful in all of our endeavours. It is very nice to meet all of you." From any other source, B'Elanna might have doubted the sincerity of the statement, but she was not entirely sure if the Captain was even programmed to deceive. She would have to consult whatever variant of a manual Commander La Forge had compiled.

"I am Captain Data," he continued. B'Elanna idly noted the crispness of his "T" sounds. "I believe that in order to fully gain and deserve your respect, I ought to provide you with a bit of background as to my credentials to reassure you that I am deserving of my position. I graduated from Starfleet Academy in 2348 with honors in exobiology and probability mechanics. I spent three years as an Ensign, then twelve years as a Lieutenant aboard-"

"Captain, while I appreciate your zeal, I think you may find it more useful to hear about the mission than tell your life story, don't you?" Admiral Janeway had a way of interrupting that made it feel almost like a privilege. Perhaps it was in her smile.

"Excellent advice, Admiral," Data replied sheepishly before slowly lowering himself back into his chair. Then he leaned forward eagerly, elbows resting on the table and fingers weaved together. "Now please: tell us about the mission."

The two Admirals glanced at one another as if to debate who would begin. Though no audible discussion occurred, a decision was clearly reached; when they turned back, Paris slumped in his seat, and Janeway leaned forward. "Since Voyager returned home, our records of previous altercations with the Borg have been used in an attempt to create a better defensive strategy against them." she began. "The resulting advancements have been outfitted, as it happens, for Voyager itself to go safely into Borg territory for further intelligence-gathering."

"We need to be able to pick them up sooner, defend better, and fight harder," Janeway continued. At every natural pause, a pin dropping could have been heard. "We need you to go out there and effectively test out our advancements. Preliminary results in labs and dry runs in the holodeck have been positive, but we can't know how good our scanners and defenses truly are until they're put to the test."

Janeway took a deep breath. "By now, the Borg most likely have found a new queen. With the advanced scanners, we need you to do your best to detect and locate her. As of now, our initial plan isn't to neutralize her, but we need to keep tabs on her and watch her development. If she isn't a threat, we might be able to leave her in peace."

B'Elanna knew what that meant, and she was surprised Admiral Janeway was involved with such a mission. The higher ups had to realize that if they found the Borg queen, she would not be peaceful. There would be a battle, and B'Elanna just hoped these new advancements would hold. She had faith in her equipment, but the Borg were no joke. And even though the new Commander would likely embrace it, B'Elanna was not terribly interested in dying in battle this week.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Janeway's question echoed against the silence; like most of them, B'Elanna had plenty of questions, but she vocalized none of them. The room was stiff and tense, with every officer hoping someone else could put to words what they were all thinking: why?

Admiral Paris rose first and, with a curt nod, said, "Dismissed."

The others rose, and as B'Elanna made her way by him, she whispered to the Admiral, "Make sure Miral eats her vegetables while I'm gone. We both know Tom won't do it."


	4. Doctor

Ch 4. Doctor

"I do not require medical attention," reiterated Commander J'Tava for, by the Doctor's mathematically flawless calculations, the billionth time. If he were more susceptible to injury, he might have feared his unwilling Klingon patient, but thanks to his holographic nature, nothing she could do would affect him too much. He was certain the fact drove her wild.

"Say it all you want," the Doctor retorted as he stepped around her, the medical tricorder in his hand scanning her internal systems. "It won't get you out of here any faster. Cooperating, on the other hand, will, so I recommend you follow my orders." He took a step back, admiring the paradigm of Klingon stature that sat before him. "My, my. You Klingons certainly are assembled well."

"You say that like it's a surprise, Doctor," the Commander replied confidently. She took advantage of his momentary pause to hop off the table. "If you're all finished then, I have something to attend to in engineering."

"Ah, yes. With Lieutenant Commander Torres?" As a humanoid nature enthusiast, the Doctor found it riveting to watch people disagree. The fact that the half-Klingon engineer and full-Klingon Commander harbored such strong and instant distaste for one another was simply fascinating. "She mentioned something about it earlier during her physical."

The Commander's confident smirk instantly contorted into an angry sneer. "This physical is over," she growled before storming out. The Doctor followed to the doorway and watched her stomp down the hallway. He looked at the clock and smirked. Yes, her physical was done. Ten minutes ago.

"Is this really necessary?" insisted the Ferengi Lieutenant. "I guarantee I'm in perfect condition. I've been with the best doctor in the quadrant since I was a boy."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow skeptically. "The best, you say?" The statement was confirmed by a nod. "And, would you be so kind as to grace me with a name for this doctor?" The indignant tone did little to express his disbelief that such a doctor could exist in any form but his own.

The young Lieutenant sat up a little straighter to reply. "Doctor Julian Bashir, here at the station. He's a reported genius." Nog spewed several impressive facts about the man, but the Doctor did his best not to listen to the specifics; begrudgingly, he recognized the name and could not deny that Julian Bashir was an astounding physician.

"Well," he grumbled, "this physical is still demanded by regulations, regardless of past treatment." The Doctor snatched his medical tricorder and began to scan the Lieutenant, receiving optimal cooperation until he neared a particular body part. It was subtle discordance, a tiny flinch that for anyone else-and yes, perhaps even the wonderful Julian Bashir-might have gone unnoticed. The Doctor looked seriously at his current patient, and indicating towards his leg asked, in a kinder tone than he had used before, "So, what happened here?"

All joviality immediately dissipated from the Ferengi. "Lost it in the war," he answered gravely, his voice low and rough in a way that felt almost like an entirely other person had replaced him. "Got shot by a Jem'Hadar and had to have it removed. This one's biosynthetic." He sighed. "But it's not quite the same."

The Doctor put down the tricorder and patted Nog's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with artificial, son," he said with a faint smile. "You check out fine. You're dismissed."

"Do you know," the Doctor mused as he slowly waved the tricorder before Counselor Barris's face, "that I've never actually examined a Bajoran before?"

The petite brunette laughed. "Well, that's only fair," she replied cheerily, green eyes peering beyond the instrument and straight at the man examining her. Though the Doctor focused primarily on the readings the tricorder produced, feeling her stare was a bit unsettling. "I've never been treated by a hologram before either."

"With this crew, I think you'll have more patients than I will," the Doctor chuckled. "Have you seen the way Commander J'Tava and Lieutenant Commander Torres go at it already? Talk about anger issues." He paused briefly. "Actually, given the nature of Klingons, I might end up eating those words."

"Oh, yes. They're hilarious." He had glanced away to consult the computer, but the Doctor did a doubletake at the counterintuitive statement from the Counselor of all people. "What I mean is," she elaborated casually, "Klingon rivalry, to me, is entertaining, especially involving J'Tava. We go way back. I've seen her best and worst."

"Do you think they'll end up friends?" he inquired with genuine interest. "I'd much prefer that to cutting each other to bits with bat'leths in the holodeck."

"Oh, don't worry, Doctor. They'll end up friends," Barris reassured him. "But they'll cut each other to bits first. And then once they're friends, they'll do it again for fun." She smiled, which only further inspired his obvious concern. "Ah, I love Klingons." Her sunny disposition quickly became almost menacing, as she tightened her posture. "Wanna place bets on who gets maimed worse?"

"Everything looks perfect," announced the Doctor at last. Seven of Nine was always his favorite patient; she never fought against him or berated his technique. He admired her exceptional calmness, the way she sat so still that he could have sworn she was a Renaissance painting if not for her borg implants and Starfleet attire, although those factors hardly distracted from her overwhelming classical beauty and-

No. He was not going to do this to himself again.

Over the past two years, the Doctor had hardly seen Seven. He understood; she was busy with the Academy. And Chakotay. He did not know how their relationship might have advanced over these years, but he didn't really want to know. He knew that she was still with him, and that was what mattered. Yes, he understood very well.

"Am I released?" Her question dragged him back into reality, the one where they were shipmates and friends and nothing else. The expression on his face attested to his bewilderment, so she repeated herself. "I said, am I released?"

"Oh, right," he replied somewhat nervously. "Yes, of course."

"Excellent." She rose slowly but purposefully from the Bench? and headed to the door. The motion sensors detected her, and the door opened accordingly, but she did not immediately exit. Instead, she turned back to him. "It's good to see you again, Doctor." His focus had befallen his computer, but immediately his eyes shot to her. "I neglected to say so at the briefing, but it's very good to see you again. I have missed your company." He offered no response-was capable of none-so she simply smiled, nodded, and went on her way, emitting a breathy hum remarkably close to something he himself had taught her years before.

When the doors resealed and she was out of his hearing range, the Doctor found himself picking up where her sound left off: "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."


	5. Commander

Ch 5. Commander

Commander J'Tava's first day as First Officer had gone by uneventfully. Aiding a crewman with heavy lifting, reassuring a worried Ensign, adding her favorite meals to the ship's replicator logs, nothing out of the ordinary. Day two was a bit more exciting, beginning with the arrival of the ship's counselor, Barris Hana, who was J'Tava's closest friend and roommate during her Academy days, and whom she had formally requested be assigned to Voyager, and ending with the formal briefing of their mission.

The briefing was where her stress had begun, and then continued with her pre-mission physical a few moments earlier. J'Tava continued to go over her situation in her head as she made the long trek from Sickbay down to Engineering. She normally had no problem with sharing a ship with its previous tenants, but the challenge of gaining respect from legendary explorers towered over her. As their superior officer, J'Tava needed them to fully trust that she deserved her authority.

Of course it didn't help that they acted like they owned the place. Who did that snooty doctor think he was, keeping the first officer for an obnoxiously extended physical when she obviously had more important things to worry about before they left the station? And what about that other Klingon- no, half-Klingon, J'Tava was sure of it- thinking she could get away with being late to such an important briefing? Perhaps when Admiral Janeway ran this ship things were different, but then again, regulations could have been ignored a bit during the hell they went through getting home.

Whatever the reasoning, this wasn't Admiral Janeway's ship anymore; it was Captain Data's, and to some extent J'Tava's. This time around, Voyager was going to be run exactly by Starfleet specifications.

Unfortunately, Starfleet currently wished for her to teach this Torres woman about Klingon cloaking technology. As an engineer and at least half-Klingon, she should have already known how to do it herself, but J'Tava had to accept that she could not alter the circumstance. She could only suffer through them. And suffer she would, as Counselor Barris would surely be subjected to later.

Because her day hadn't been annoying enough yet, J'Tava arrived in front of engineering. She took a deep, calming breath and adjusted her uniform in a few places before being satisfied she was relaxed enough to handle what was undoubtedly waiting for her on the other side of the door. Calling up her confidence and holding her shoulders back, J'Tava forced herself through the loud "whoosh" of the door and into engineering.

Engineering was much louder than she had been expecting. When she had first arrived, J'Tava had taken herself on a tour of the ship to get her bearings, and having been practically the first one aboard, the room had been empty. Now, though, it was alive with officers and crewmen in gold preparing their ship for launch.

Her sudden arrival, however, signalled a pause in this liveliness. A nod from the Commander restored the chatter and general activity to everyone, yet there remained a slice of tension in the air. J'Tava could feel their apprehension, but whether it was because of her stern appearance, or if they could sense what was to come, she had no idea.

"All right," came a strained voice, its owner approaching from a corner of the room. "Let's get this over with." Of course, the speaker was the ever contemptuous Lieutenant Commander Torres. Here was the confrontation J'Tava had been dreading for the majority of the day. Her immediate instinct was to grab that insolent little halfling and hang her from the rafters by her toes, but of course this wasn't home. This was a "mostly" human organization-as was the woman in front of her. So at least for now, J'Tava would have to bite the bullet.

"Fine by me," retorted the Commander, placing her hands on her hips. She leaned forward slightly, utilizing her height advantage to reiterate what her body language had already proclaimed: J'Tava was in charge.

Lieutenant Commander Torres folded her arms resentfully. "This way," she said through her teeth. She led without waiting to see if J'Tava would follow. And she did, a grand smirk resonating with her small victory. A war was not won with only one-sided massacres, but with finesse as well when required.

Grumbling, the resistant duo arrived at the main engineering console. J'Tava bent to examine it, verifying all Klingon cloaking components had arrived and were assembled correctly. "Hopefully you did not have any difficulties installing the physical components," she sneered. "Klingon technology happens to be very advanced; those who aren't accustomed to it tend to have issues getting it to function."

"No problem whatsoever," Torres replied smugly, leaning against the upper part of the machine. To suggest the ease of it, she raised her hand to inspect her cuticles, a position she held as the Commander straightened up to glare at her. "It was actually pretty simple. You mighty Klingons sure make it easy for us poor Starfleet folk."

J'Tava scowled but offered only a terse, "I will show you how to activate it." Then she moved wordlessly, familiar hands working swiftly and forcing the Lieutenant Commander to keep as sharp as possible. "Now you." She stepped back to provide space. Torres went to work immediately, her fingers deft but her conviction… human.

"No!" shouted the Commander, pushing her subordinate away from the station. "Be more careful with that! You cannot harm the cloaking device." She shot a glare that struck more deeply than any bat'leth. "Maybe your engineers can replicate equipment in a snap, but Klingon technology cannot so easily be replaced."

"I'm fast, not careless," Torres shot back hotly. "That's called efficiency. Something engineers on Voyager are notorious for. You showed me how you do it, and now my job is to make it better. Now you can either drag me down, or you can get off my back." Her chest rose and fell in quick pants, and she stood not quite on her toes but in such a way that she appeared larger than she was.

"Captain Data to Commander J'Tava." The chipper voice from her commbadge pierced the tense silence, startling them both. "If the modifications are complete, please report to the bridge. We are ready to disembark."

J'Tava took a second to breathe before tapping her badge to reply. "Yes, Captain, we've just finished the additions, and everything down here is squared away and ready to go." Her newly forced calm extended to the Chief Engineer as she nodded politely, turned around on her heel and walked out of engineering and into the nearest turbo lift.

"Bridge," she commanded of the lift. J'Tava was surprised at the wavering nature of her tone; she felt as though she had been holding her breath for far too long. With Klingon warchants resonating in her head, her composure slowly returned as the ride went on, and by the time she arrived at her destination, the Klingon was the Commander.

When the doors parted, she stepped onto the Bridge and glanced around at her new domain:

each station occupied by its respective officer going over every last detail before they were finally on their way. Captain Data sat proudly in his chair, but the chair beside him, the one meant for J'Tava, was occupied by one Counselor Barris. "Ahem." Barris glanced up, and, with a smile, bounced over to the small shelf-space between the Captain and Commander's chairs. It was fortunate for her that she was tiny. J'Tava found herself grinning and shaking her head; this assignment was definitely going to be more interesting with Barris along.

The Captain offered his first officer a genuine smile, which she returned and raised a nod of the head. "Mr. Nog," he said with a tug of his uniform, "Coordinates laid in. Set warp 7." He paused, awaiting confirmation of his order. "Engage."


End file.
